Two Sides of the Die
by Montley
Summary: Lysander had always been strange, stranger than most, at least to himself. Though, his brother appeared to him to as the epitome of perfectness. There was no flaw within his brother, and yet, he could identify so many within himself, so that sometimes it pained him to speak.


Two Sides of the Die

By Montley

Lysander had always been strange, stranger than most, at least to himself. Though, his brother appeared to him to as the epitome of perfectness. There was no flaw within his brother, and yet, he could identify so many within himself, so that sometimes it pained him to speak.

All Lysander needed to painlessly suffer through the day was a cup of tea and his journal, while Lorcan never suffered. He lived. Even as they were children, Lorcan exhibited the most happiness and joy, while Lysander preferred to stay at home during his family's weekly Crumple Horned Snorkack escapades. He knew that they didn't exist, while Lorcan believed in them like they were Merlin. Lysander simply did not want to break his family's heart. Lorcan would never have the chance to.

As the years wore on, Lorcan became everything a boy wished; strong, muscular, popular and handsome. While Lyander received the short end of the stick, resembling his mother more than his father, being lean, big, blue-eyed, but with dark tresses, Lorcan inheriting his mother's hair while Lysander took his father's. His brother was also popular in Gryffindor, while he was a loner in Ravenclaw, even now when he most needed it, he did not have any company.

But that did not stop Lysander from noticing _her, _the girl as sweet as honey in his house at Hogwarts. Yet, around her, his tongue would always become tied, his thoughts and voice being repressed by Lorcan's voice telling him he never do better than him.

Lorcan would always be better.

xXx XxX xXx

Lorcan had never been pleased with himself, always striving to become a better man, even when he was still a little child. His brother, Lysander, had always been ahead, his intelligence peaking while Lorcan felt as though he were stuck in the gutters, his brain doomed to never expand.

Lysander never needed to put effort into anything, he simply did it perfectly on the first try, while sometimes it was hard for Lorcan to understand certain words upon the pages of his books that he strived to read. Soon he gave up. Lysander would always be better in that sense. So Lorcan had to work and to build, had to become the other sense of perfect that he could possibly be. No one wants to have a boy who can barely read. But if they don't know…well, they will never know.

In Hogwarts, Lorcan began going through girls as though they were his laundry. Their lips and hair were an escape from the torture that was his everyday life of not understanding a single world. In each class, he felt as though he were going to choke on air with salty tears finally streaming out of his blue eyes as Lysander would scoff behind him.

Lysander would always be better.

xXx XxX xXx

Luna did not know why her sons were like this, always at odds with one another. She had thought that when they were born they were going to be the best of friends, smiling and laughing gaily with one another.

Unfortunately, her dreams for her boys never happened that way. At least they could not see the Thestrals. That must mean something went well.

xXx XxX xXx

While the two boys were home during the summer, they still never spoke. Lysander would climb upon the cliffs of their land, staring off into the distance and watching as the sunk slowly sank down. He craved for the girl who was as sweet as honey, with auburn locks and pretty green eyes that made his stomach aflutter in joy. Instead, he wrote in his journal about all of his imaginings, the things he had hoped or prayed to be true one day. It was a calming sight, taking him away from his silly life, letting him sometimes believe that he did not have a twin who was better than him in every sense of the word.

Lorcan watched his brother from the distance, an itch tickling his spine. He knew that they needed to talk with one another, repair and save whatever dingy relationship they once had. Lysander would never be the first, sometimes he was too introverted to ever speak. So, he climbed the cliffs to reach his "forever" lonely brother. The two were never close, too different and so unparalleled from one another, that sometimes, it was hard to accept that they were brothers. Lorcan hated how they had neglected one another over the years, and he could no longer let his jealously surpass his love.

And it was time to be honest with himself and Lysander, and he supposed that forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.

"Hey, bro," he greeted as he sat down next to his brother, whose quill was dashing along his paper.

"What are you doing here, Lorcan?" Lysander spitefully asked.

"I can be where I want to be, this is my home as much as it is yours," Lorcan spat back, playfully shoving his brother.

"Whatever," Lysander muttered, concentration returning to his journal.

"What are you writing about?" Lorcan asked, reaching for the journal.

"None of your business," Lysander snapped.

"Fine, fine, it's not what I wanted to talk about anyway," Lorcan relented, his hands in the air.

"Then what?" Lysander questioned, putting his quill in his journal and shutting it closed.

"Us,"Lorcan plainly stated. "We suck."

Lysander smirked and snickered, giving his brother a nod in agreement. "I suppose we do."

"But why?" Lorcan pestered. "I mean clearly, we have issues."

"Issues take time," Lysander muttered, his attention averting away towards the clouds.

"That doesn't mean we can't try to fix things, we're already sixteen, it's getting a bit ridiculous that we've never been as close as the whole Weasley-Potter troop," Lorcan continued.

Lysander laughed. "You're right, you're always right, eh, Mr. Popular."

"Thank you for recognizing that, genius," Lorcan teased, a smile gracing his features.

And the two brothers laughed.

xXx XxX xXx

Luna parted the curtains from her window in the kitchen and saw her two sons finally talking with one another.

And she smiled.

_This was for Round 11 of Quidditch Comp:_

_Prompts: Choke, sweet as honey, and "Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heal that has crushed it." – Mark Twain _


End file.
